Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [15]
“It feels better, thanks,” Nick told her gratefully, even though he could feel the Band-Aid’s adhesive trying to adhere to the wound itself. It wasn’t a good feeling.
Eliza could practically see his tail wagging happily through the back of his tunic. “I’m looking for some pepper or maybe some garlic powder or herbs,” she explained, still rummaging. “Something to spice up the mac.”
“But that’s my bag!” Nick protested.
Eliza removed a Ziploc bag full of clumpy dried green leaves from Nick’s backpack. She opened the Ziploc and sniffed its pungent contents. “Is this pot?”
Nick crossed his arms over his chest. He’d wanted to introduce the pot after dinner as a sort of get-to-know-each-other aperitif. “Yeah, it’s pot. I brought it for all of us.”
Shipley stared at the Ziploc bag. Her brother was sent to boarding school for the first time because of pot. He got kicked out of Brunswick for breaking into the school after hours and stealing pot from another student’s locker. Pot was illegal. It did things to you. She was terrified of it. And she’d always wanted to try it.
Eliza watched in fascination as her new roommate’s eyes grew very round and took on a silvery blue glow. She looked like Alice in Wonderland falling down the rabbit hole.
“Can we smoke it now?” Shipley demanded.
Nick stood up and retrieved the bag of pot from Eliza’s hands. “Come on. I’ve got rolling papers in my pocket.” He led the way out of the tent.
“Hey, wake up.” Shipley crouched next to Tom’s prone form and whispered into his ear. “Nick has pot!”
“Just what I need,” Tom mumbled. He sat up anyway, more aroused by the sensation of Shipley whispering in his ear than by the thought of getting high. The fact that he’d managed to puke repeatedly his first day at college was more than a little embarrassing. But pot was known to alleviate nausea and cause short-term memory loss. Maybe it was just the thing. “I want my own joint though. You should hear this guy sneeze,” he told the girls. “Dude’s got freaking TB.”
They gathered around the campfire, sitting cross-legged as Nick rolled four perfect joints and distributed one to each member of the group. The campsite was in a small clearing a few hundred yards from the riverbank. They’d followed Professor Rosen there on foot from the logging road, fifteen minutes through pathless woods. Tall trees surrounded them in a huddle, offering their silent and unbiased protective service. Nick removed a burning stick from the fire and lit the tip of each joint. They smoked wordlessly for a while, interrupted only by a choking first-time cough from Shipley and Nick’s incessant sneezes.
“Six years on the rugby team and now I’m smoking up like a total douche-bag,” Tom reflected before taking another hit. His eyes were trained on the strands of Shipley’s hair, set aglow by the firelight. They were gold, platinum, bronze, and rose. Auburn, plum, violet, and lemon. And…peony. “Christ, I’m already wasted.”
Eliza smoked her own joint with a great deal of skepticism. She’d only gotten high a couple of times, taking hits from bongs at parties when no one else was looking. She liked how relaxed she got, but she hated how stupid it made her feel. Why would anyone want to feel that stupid on a regular basis? Plus, getting high made you want to eat, which made you fat. It was a nobrainer, literally.
Nick was glad he’d brought the pot. Everyone was mellow now. It was like they were all meditating on the same theme. Twilight had set in, and every atom and molecule swirling around them seemed to glisten. Across the river the girls were singing “Yellow Submarine.” Their voices sounded very far away.
Shipley wished she could just eat the pot instead of smoking it. Her lungs ached after a day of smoking cigarettes, and the rolling paper stuck to her dry lips. But it was all so naughty, which was what made it all the more fantastic. Her nostrils were buzzing. Her ears were buzzing. She could feel Tom staring at her, and it felt